


Believer (Imagine Dragons)

by Clitler



Series: Destiel Playlist [31]
Category: Supernatural, The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Coming Untouched, Dean's POV, F/M, Family Don't End in Blood, Frottage, M/M, Plots and Conspiracies, Sam's POV, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clitler/pseuds/Clitler
Summary: Dean discovers where Sam is and joins his group to Charlie's





	Believer (Imagine Dragons)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of those 'nothing of real consequence happens' chapters.  
> It's a lot of explanations and conversations, with a little smut thrown in because...well, smut.  
> But, we do get to see Sam and find out a little of what's been going on with him.

Believe (Imagine Dragons)

            “We aren’t _taking_ them anywhere.  They’re travelling with us.  They’re our…” here Cas trailed off, flashing a look of frustration at Dean, but Dean was glaring stone-cold murder at Charlie.

 

            “They’re our _family_ ,” the menace in Dean’s voice had the small hairs on the back of even Cas’ neck rising.  Dean took a few short but significant steps forward, sauntering across the uneven pavement, “And if you don’t take your guns off them right now, you’re all gonna die.”

 

            Cas’ eyes darted over to Kevin, on his knees in front of Claire, who slumped defiantly against the side of the bus, both under the watch of the tall, brunette man.  Jody was in front of the gun of a petite woman with a headful of dark, curly hair and a constant smirk. A short man with honey-blonde hair had a gun to the back of Donna’s head and Billie stood, arms folded, staring daggers at the nerdy-looking young guy shakily holding a gun in her general direction.  Balthazar was…where was Balthazar?  Everyone was between the bus and the tow truck; everyone except Zar.

 

            “And why, pray tell, would I believe you?”  Charlie asked, hand shaking minutely.  Well, at least she wasn’t stupid enough not to be scared of this frightening new version of Dean.

 

            “Oh, I don’t care if you believe me.  But you have two seconds to drop your guns,” Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 

            Charlie swallowed visibly, “And what happens if I don’t?”

 

            “All that pretty red hair is gonna blow off like dandelion fluff when my good friend Balthazar puts a 225 Winchester round through your skull.”

 

            Charlie’s eyes reached the dimensions of standard dinner plates as her gun hand dropped.  Rufus took her gun quickly, spinning her around to divest her of its twin tucked into the back of her jeans.

 

            “Now, be a good girl and release the rest of my group.”

 

            “Let ‘em go,” Charlie commanded, eyes never leaving Dean’s, as if she were afraid he’d pounce the second her back was turned.

 

            The tall guy, the blonde, and the nerd immediately stood down, laying their guns on the pavement or handing them to their former captives.  The petite brunette simply continued to smile.  The blonde guy whispered something in her ear that had her grinning even wider as she handed her gun to Jody and stood back, whispering back to the blonde guy.  Suddenly, the front door of a house about a half a block down burst open and a curly-haired man with horn-rimmed glasses strode out, carrying a long-range sniper rifle like an umbrella.

 

            “What the Hell are you guys doing?!!  I told you I had your back!!!”

 

            “Solid operation you got here, Charlie,” Dean smirked.

 

            “Yeah, well, we can’t all be Bruce Wayne,” Charlie sighed.

 

            Dean smirked over at Cas, “ _I’m Batman_ ,” he intoned.  “I guess that makes you-“

 

            “Don’t even say it, Dean,” Cas grumbled.

 

            Balthazar hopped triumphantly out of the van’s passenger-side door, “Pretty nice rifle you have here, Winchester.”

 

            Dean walked over to pat Balthazar on the shoulder and take the rifle from him, “Like you even know how to shoot this thing,” he laughed.

 

            “Of course, I do, dahling!  Have to be able to give a demonstration of my wares, do I not?”  Dean looked utterly confused.  “Didn’t you know, my dear boy?  I used to be a, how do they say it?  ‘Arms dealer’, I believe is the current parlance, though I’ve always considered myself more of a facilitator.”

 

            Trying not to let his jaw drag the ground, Dean watched Zar walk over to Cas.

 

            “Cassie! My love!  Did you see the gun I chose?  Rather fitting, don’t you think?  A Winchester to cover a Winchester! Delicious! Speaking of delicious, who is this tall drink of water?” Zar dragged Cas over to Charlie’s now-rounded up group.

 

            “Did you say one of you is a Winchester?” Charlie asked, grabbing Balthazar’s arm.

 

            “Why do you care?” Dean asked bluntly.

 

            “We…we know a Winchester,’ she stammered, glancing between Dean and Cas.  “Sam Winch-“

 

            Dean lunged at her, grasping her jacket in a death grip and bending her nearly in half backwards, “ ** _Where is he?!! Where’s Sam?!_** ”

 

            Cas, Balthazar, Rufus, Jody, short blonde guy, and tall brunette guy jumped in to pull Dean off the small redhead, who was shaking and crying by the time her people pulled her up to standing straight.

 

            “Tell me where he is, Charlie!” Dean growled.

 

            “What’s it to you, asshole?” short blonde guy spit at Dean.

 

            “ ** _He’s my brother_**!” Dean screamed.  Everyone stopped, total silence, save for Dean’s heavy breathing as he continued to struggle against Jody and Rufus’ hold on him.

 

            Short blonde guy dropped Charlie’s arm and ran up to Dean, grabbing the taller man by his jacket, “You have to help us save him!” he begged, tears spilling down his cheeks.

 

 

 

           

 

            “As you can see here, our projections for this quarter are slightly ahead of schedule in both the third and fourth quadrant, however, this does not take into account Group A’s latest earnings report, as we have yet to receive it,” Sam explained.

           

            “Any word on when I can expect to see that report?” Senator Roman asked.  No one in the room so much as breathed.  “Crowley?”

 

            “Ahem,” Crowley cleared his throat, “It was suppose-that is to say, we expect to hear from Nicholas any day now, but as you are aware, Senator, Group A has been notoriously late with reporting in for the last two months and-“

 

            “Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” Roman oozed with oily charm, “How many times do I have to tell you?  Call me Dick.”

 

            “Yes, of course…Dick,” Crowley stammered, “As I was saying-“

 

            “Edgar, what was their last known position?” Roman asked his right-hand man.

 

            “Last report had them traveling through the Rockies via Black Bear Pass, Dick.”

 

            “And how long ago was that?” Roman did not take his eyes off Crowley, making the shorter man squirm in his seat at the big conference table.

 

            “Almost three weeks now.”

 

            Roman turned his gaze to Ruby, “So, two weeks overdue, then.”

 

            Sam shifted where he stood at the far end of the table, drawing Roman’s eyes away from Ruby.  When he had the Senator’s attention, he made every effort to speak in a measured tone, neither excusing nor condemning the delay of their most well-seasoned Collections teams, “Nick has taken longer breaks between reports before, Dick,” Sam ignored Crowley’s scowl, “but he has always come through with consistently high numbers of quality product.  That’s more than can be said for every other group we have in the field.”

 

            Roman seemed to seriously consider Sam’s words, steepling his fingers under his chin and making little sounds of deep thought.  It had taken Sam all of two minutes to get Roman’s measure when Brady had brought him into the man’s office.  Sam had instantly determined the biggest mistake he could make would be to _ever_ underestimate Dick Roman.  It was also clear the former Senator was one of the most intelligent people Sam had ever met.  Utterly insane, but highly intelligent. 

 

            “Alrighty then!” Roman clapped his hands once and stood, straightening his tie.  Everyone but Sam exhaled a relieved breath.  “These numbers look great, boys.  And girl, of course,” he winked at Ruby, “Keep up the good work and I will see you all next Tuesday, yes?” Nods all around.  Edgar opened the conference room doors and Roman got about halfway out before turning back, “Oh, and Sam? See if your little redheaded wunderkind can work her magic and get those trackers up and running by Thursday.  I’d like to see that program implemented by Monday.”

 

            “Of course,” Sam agreed with a smile.

 

            Edgar closed the doors after Roman and everyone in the room slumped in their chairs.  Sam began gathering his notes and packing them hurriedly in his briefcase.

 

            “Sam, we need to talk,” Ruby hissed in his ear and if he hadn’t grown up with the sneakiest brother in history, he would have jumped a foot in the air.  Getting the shit scared out of him (sometimes literally) on an almost daily basis by Dean when they were growing up had given him nerves of steel.  The asshole had crowed for weeks when Sam had let it slip that Dean’s jump-scare training had given him the enviable ability to appear completely unfazed in court, no matter what the prosecution threw at him.

 

            “We don’t have anything to talk about,” Sam answered as he made for the door without even a glance at his ex-girlfriend.  “Crowley?”

 

            Crowley rolled his eyes but followed Sam out of the conference room willingly enough, nearly speed-walking to keep up with Sam’s long strides.  They stood in the elevator silently, ignoring each other, as befit their ‘mortal enemies’ image.  The truth of the matter was, of course, not nearly that simple.

 

            Sam slid his key card through the reader at Charlie’s door and bent slightly at the waist for the retinal scan.  He held the door for Crowley, eyes discreetly searching the hallway for anyone following them.  The apartment was empty because Charlie had finally taken the first step in their plan, but the place was so strongly imbued with her presence, Sam almost expected her to be sitting in the enormous, pink beanbag chair, yelling obscenities into her headset and mashing buttons wildly on her controller.

 

            “Didn’t want to stay for some angry sex with the ex, Moose?” Crowley smarmed.

 

            “Where the fuck is Gabe?” Sam rounded on the short Brit, all pretense of professionalism gone.

 

            “Now, Moose,” Crowley unbuttoned his jacket and sat gracefully at Charlie’s kitchen table, the only available seating that didn’t squish or swivel, “You know Charlie’s Littlest Angel does what he _wants_ to do, not what his gargantuan love slave _tells_ him to do.  Besides, none of us were going to be able to keep Naomi off his back for much longer.  He was right about that.  This situation is quickly spinning out of your control.  I thought it best to follow the plan we _all_ agreed on originally.  You recall, the one we hashed out _before_ you became so attached to our golden-eyed boy.”

 

            “Who did they take in place of Lee and Caleb?” Caleb had been roped into one of Arthur Ketch’s pet projects at the last minute and Lee…Lee was the reason Roman wanted the trackers finished and ready for implantation by Monday.  The man had up and disappeared one night, never to be heard from again.  Crowley just smirked at Sam.  “Ugh! Not those two!  _Goddamn it, Charlie_!  I told her they weren’t ready for this!”

 

            “Well, you know our little Charlene, she does have a soft spot for the geek set,” Crowley said smugly.

 

            “Ed and Harry, Jesus,” Sam folded into the chair opposite Crowley, dropping his head into his hands, “We are so royally fucked,” he mumbled into his palms.

 

            “And she didn’t even buy us dinner first,” Crowley tutted.

 

 

 

            Arthur Ketch watched with narrowed eyes as the Sam Winchester on the monitor bent at the waist, then opened the door to the Tech Head’s lair, his fat little frenemy following closely behind.  Ketch typed a few commands into the keyboard rapidly, switching over to the internal feed for Bradbury’s apartment.  On the screen, the bitch was slumped in a ridiculously large beanbag chair, screaming at the television and fiddling with a video game.  Ketch waited a moment, but neither Winchester nor Crowley appeared on screen.  He switched to the camera pointed at the front door.  No one in the entryway or kitchen area.  Hallway, no one.  Bedrooms, no one.  Office, no one.  Ketch leaned back in his desk chair, grinning from ear-to-ear.  “Gotcha,” he whispered.      

 

 

 

            “ _Jesus Christ, Sam_ ,” Dean rumbled to himself once Gabriel was done explaining his little brother’s insinuation into the slave state being formed by California Senator Dick Roman.

 

            “That’s not even the worst part,” the shorter of the two geeks, Ed something-or-other, piped up.  He got an elbow in the stomach for his trouble from his friend with the glasses.

 

            Dean glared at Charlie, who had the good sense to point at the tall dude, who folded his arms and gave her a defiant look.

 

            “Just tell him, Zeke,” Gabriel sighed.

 

            The big guy squirmed and stood up from the wall he was leaning against, “Well, I work for Naomi,” at half the group’s blank look, he changed tack, “She’s head of Reprogramming.   Every person Collections brings in gets evaluated at Incoming, assigned to separate groups, and forwarded to her department for…training, in their new, um, roles.”

 

            “We don’t know what any of that means,” Cas said, head tilted in confusion.

 

            “He means the people Collections _kidnaps_ are slotted into different categories of _slavery_ , then Naomi and her people beat, starve, and otherwise torture them into compliance,” the one called Meg finally spoke up.  It was the most words she’d said since they had adjourned to Sam’s living room to discuss this whole mess.

 

            Everyone in Dean’s group stared daggers at Zeke and he gulped visibly, “Uh, anyway, so, um, she’s not my _direct_ boss, but I overheard her talking to my boss and she was telling him to be watching everyone under him for any ‘odd’ behavior.  She said the new head of Collections was some bleeding-heart civil rights lawyer and she didn’t trust him.”

 

            “ _Sam_ ,” Dean breathed as he squeezed Cas’ hand. 

 

            “How does she know Sam?” Cas asked, honestly curious.  Before the end of all things, he’d thought of himself as pretty liberal and had avidly followed every major (and some minor) civil rights’ cases around the world and he’d never heard of Sam Winchester before he met Dean.

 

            “She used to be one of the higher-ups in some big security firm, the ones who were sent over to Iraq, I think?” Zeke looked at Gabriel, who nodded sadly.

 

            Dean sighed, “Sam worked for a group of women who were accusing some of the security guys of rape.  Sam won the case, this was about five years ago.” 

 

 

“Why would you just leave Sam there like that?” Claire asked loudly, surprising the Hell out of Dean.

 

            “Zeke didn’t rendezvous with us until yesterday,” Charlie explained, a plea for understanding in her eyes, “We couldn’t all disappear at the same time! We had no idea she was onto us!”

 

            “I work for Eval and Naomi’s had her little spies sniffing around me for weeks.  She finally cornered me last week, asking all kinds of questions.  It was only a matter of time until she pulled me in for a more heated discussion.  Ed and Harry got me out with their last scavenging trip,” Gabriel explained.  The man sagged and cut his eyes away from Dean’s.  Dean could see his jaw quivering in the meager lantern light.  “Sam told me not to go…said we’d find someone else…but we already lost Lee and then Caleb, and I just couldn’t…I couldn’t risk falling into Naomi’s hands!  If she knew any of what Sam and Crowley were planning…” Gabriel’s eyes filled with tears and he shook his head violently, shoulders shaking as his head fell into his hands.

 

            “Who’s Crowley?” Jody asked.

 

            “He’s Head of Distribution, but his real talent lies elsewhere,” Zeke commented.

 

            Charlie rubbed Gabriel’s back and picked up the tale, “Meg got me out the day after the boys left and Zeke met up with us yesterday.”

 

            Dean sat in shock for a few minutes.  He just couldn’t believe any of it.  He knew Sam was stupidly heroic, but this was a level above, even for him!  If he had the story straight, Brady, that snake, showed up here and gave Sam some cock-and-bull story about his family to get Sam to go to San Francisco, then introduces him to King Psycho, who was apparently building a new empire on the backs of the slaves his ‘collectors’ were catching for him.  And, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge, Sam decided to take down the whole kit and caboodle from the inside.

 

            “Wait,” Dean demanded gruffly, his irritation with Sam coming across as anger, “what the fuck are you guys doing in Pilot Hill instead of getting Sam out of there?”

 

            Gabriel’s head shot up, his face streaked with tears, “We’re doing what Sam told us to do!  We’re following the plan!”

 

            Charlie slapped him on the shoulder and sighed over at Dean, “The only way Sam will leave now is if he finishes Roman for good, okay?  We’re here for the C4.”

 

            “What C4?” Kevin asked.

 

            “Frank Devereaux,” Balthazar answered quietly.  Everyone turned to look at Zar, who merely shrugged.  “An…associate of mine.  Profoundly paranoid man, but I know where he’ll be, if he’s alive.”

 

            “Sam defended him against a felony weapons charge a few years ago,” Charlie went on with only a momentary pause as everyone stared at Zar in shock, “We’re supposed to load it up and take it to the Hetchy Hydropower plant.  That’s where Meg comes in.”  Meg winked at Balthazar and arched an eyebrow at the rest of them.  “The electricity is the only real power Roman has.  It’s how he’s built this whole thing.  It’s the only reason anyone follows him.  He’s giving everyone back the world as they knew it, or a close enough facsimile to inspire capitulation.”

 

            “Why not just disable the power plant?” Donna asked.

 

            “A: none of us know how, and B: Sam said if we leave it in some kind of repairable shape, some other asshole’s bound to come along and start the whole thing up again, and I don’t think he meant just the electricity,” Charlie answered.  Dean closed his eyes and shook his head.  Sam Winchester: now saving the world seven nights a week.

 

            “Alright,” Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, “Zeke, Gabriel, Cas, and me are on first watch.  Zar, Rufus, Charlie, and Meg, you’re on second.”  Dean stood, taking Cas’ hand and pulling him up.  “Tomorrow, we find Devereaux and blow up a power plant.”

 

            “You’re gonna help?” Gabriel said, his voice full of disbelief but his face full of hope.

 

            “I don’t know all the details of this fool op Sam’s planned, which, Gabriel, you _will_ be filling me in on, and I frankly don’t give two shits about Dick Roman or toppling any empires.  What I do care about is Sam and if I have to burn down the entire state of California to get to him, well, then, that’s what I plan to do,” Dean laughed to himself mirthlessly. 

 

            An hour later, those not on watch were bedded down for their four hours of rest and Dean was patrolling with Gabriel while the shorter man told him as much of the plan as he knew.

 

            “So, once the power cuts off, that’s the signal for everyone to move on the final step,” Gabriel said.

 

            “And that is?”

 

            “Full-on slave revolt.”

 

            “ _What_? How the Hell does he think he’s gonna manage that?”

 

            “All I know is Crowley has allies in every department, from Collections to Distribution.  Every person he’s ever helped owes him.  He’s the king of the deal and he has three quarters of that place in his ledger,” Gabriel kicked at rock imbedded in the dirt of the alleyway behind Sam’s house and swung his gaze up to the house with an indecipherable look on his face.  “Dean, there’s, uh…something you should know about me…”

 

            “Yeah, I know, you love Sam.”

 

            “Wh-how…never mind, that wasn’t what I was going to say, but, um, yeah, I love him,” Gabriel ducked his head and blew out a breath, “When this whole thing started, I was working for Roman, on his campaign.  He found me and talked me into joining him.”

 

            “Okay?”

 

            “I did this.  The slave-state, the kidnappings, the torture, all my idea…sort of.  I designed Dick’s little kingdom from the ground up,” Gabriel whispered.  At Dean’s look of disgust, Gabriel blurted out, “It was supposed to just be theoretical! We were so drunk…and-and Dick started asking how someone could get the situation under control, make things how they used to be.  It was just an idea! I didn’t know he’d actually _do_ it!”

 

            Dean’s face was dark with rage, “Does Sam know any of this?”

 

            Gabriel scoffed sarcastically and swiped at the few tears that had squeezed out despite his best efforts, “Who do you think told him how to dismantle it?”

 

 

 

            Fortunately for the would-be terrorists, Frank Devereaux was long dead.  Even more fortunately, Zar was not.  He directed them in disabling thirteen separate booby traps laid around Devereaux’s cabin in the middle of a national park.  When they opened the hatch to an underground storage bunker, Zar insisted on being the only one to go down and retrieve the explosives and detonators.  Cas was the only one to question the wisdom of Zar’s decision.

 

            “Cassie, dear,” Zar placed a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder, “Despite his many eccentricities and the reputation those of us in the business have, Frank was my _friend_.  I owe it to him to do this in the way he would prefer.  He would have hated the idea of so many strangers tromping through his stash, no matter their lofty motivations.”

 

            He ended up bringing ten duffle bags up to the surface.  Dean opened one, which was filled with what looked like black plastic boxes, each about the size of a bar of soap, with several small holes in different spots, like headphone jacks in a cell phone.  The detonators looked like electric meat thermometers with shorter wires.  Dean huffed in amusement.

 

            “What? You were expecting gray bricks of clay?” Zar laughed.

 

 

 

            The night before the Hetchy raid, once they had talked the plan nearly to death, Meg winked at Cas as she led Zar to her tent.  Cas laughed into Dean’s shoulder blade where he sat around the recently-banked fire.

 

            “What’s so funny?” Dean asked, his own mouth quirked in a half smile.  No matter the impending situation, or how tired he was, or hungry or horny or depressed, Cas’ pure laughter always lifted Dean’s heart and he had to at least smile back.

 

            “I think Zar’s finally bitten off more than even he can chew,” Cas chuckled, moving Dean’s head so he could watch the two disappearing in the dimming light.

 

            “She’ll eat him alive,” Dean smiled.  “Come on then, angel,” Dean heaved himself to his feet, turning to offer his hand to Cas, “All the children are in bed for the night,” Dean pulled just a little too hard, Cas’ chest crashing into his slightly, his boyfriend’s hands grabbing Dean’s upper arms for support.  Dean leaned in to brush his lips lightly along Cas’ jaw, the stubble there making them tingle, “I want you to fuck me into the mattress tonight, babe,” Dean whispered into Cas’ ear before licking the lobe.  He grinned in triumph at Cas’ hitch of breath and low moan as the shorter man slid his hands down to Dean’s hips and ground their half-hard dicks together.  Even through four layers of fabric, the motion sent an electric jolt shooting through Dean’s groin.

 

            “You’ll be sore tomorrow,” Cas warned in that graveled voice he got when he was aroused.  Dean shut him up with a filthy kiss, sucking Cas’ tongue into his mouth and nipping it with his front teeth.

 

            “I’m counting on it,” Dean said against Cas’ open mouth, swiftly plunging his tongue in to run along the inside of Cas’ cheek and back over the roof of his mouth, drawing a low whine out of his boyfriend.

 

            “Get in the cabin,” Cas commanded.  It was moments like this that made Dean doubt his Alpha male status.  Dean bent to Cas’ will as easily as a blade of grass bends to the rushing wind, and never once did he regret it.  The weight of leadership was something that bowed his back and troubled his every waking minute.  Giving up responsibility, if even for an hour or two, to the only person he trusted this way was his only respite and he relished it.  Plus, he never came harder than he did when Cas held him down and did whatever he wanted, making Dean take it hard and brutal, minimal prep and Cas’ body hard and unyielding against his own.  Yup, not an Alpha _all_ the time.

 

            Dean had argued long and loud against Charlie’s insistence that he and Cas take the cabin’s only bed.  But since he had flat-out refused to sleep in Sam’s and Jess’ bed, he lost the fight with the infuriating redhead.  As he practically ran up the short porch, he sent out a silent prayer to whoever might be listening for Charlie Bradbury’s stubborn streak.  Before he could even get in the bedroom, he heard Cas’ methodical footsteps behind him, boots thudding on the worn wood floors as Dean opened the bedroom door.  Frank Devereaux may have been a paranoid shut-in, but the man had enjoyed some of the finer things in life, and had the good grace not to die in bed, leaving behind a Queen-sized sleigh bed covered in a soft quilt that was obviously hand made by someone who knew what they were doing.  Dean hurried to rid himself of his pesky clothing as Cas shut and locked the door behind him.

 

            Turning to ask Cas where he wanted him, Dean lost his ability to speak when Cas descended on him, roughly walking him backwards to the bed as he attacked Dean’s neck with lips and tongue and teeth, his hands grasping Dean’s hips hard enough to bruise.  Cas ground his fully-clothed cock against Dean’s hard dick once, the thrill of being naked for Cas while the man remained dressed heightening the sensation, before pushing him back to sit hard on the bed.

 

            Dean looked up at Cas with wide eyes, his mouth parted around his quickening breath.  “Undress me,” Cas demanded, his eyes dark in the moonlight reflecting off the lake and bathing the room in slowly shifting pale light.  Dean rushed to obey, shaking fingers pushing the long-sleeved Henley up Cas’ body, sitting up as Cas raised his arms for Dean to pull it over his head.  Dean slid his hands down Cas’ lightly-haired chest, admiring the way his newly-acquired muscles twitched under the skin.  Life at the end of the world had been surprisingly kind to Castiel.  Gone was the fluorescent-light pallor, replaced with the tan of a man who frequently removes his shirt while working in the sun.  His chest and shoulders weren’t exactly ripped, not like Dean’s, but the little bit of sleek muscle he already possessed had bulked up and was more defined.  Their erratic diet was enough to keep his bones from being as prominent as when they’d met but not enough to fill out his middle in the typical gut that many men his age were prone to.  Dean’s own stomach was softer, due to his tendency to indulge in any form of desert he could find, especially pie. Although the only pie he’d had recently were the stale hand pies he picked up in abandoned gas stations…

 

            Cas grabbed Dean’s wrists, ripping him from his leisurely perusal of Cas’ stomach and thoughts of fresh apple pie, “I didn’t say you could touch.” Cas’ heated gaze burned through Dean and he gulped audibly as his dick gave a hearty twitch of interest.  Dean went straight to work on Cas’ boots, loosening the laces and pulling them off one by one as Cas balanced on his bare shoulder with the lightest touch.  Cas kicked the boots aside and stepped back up to Dean, looking pointedly at his own belt.  Dean slid the belt out of its buckle while watching Cas’ face, running his tongue out to wet his bottom lip before capturing it in his teeth and internally cheering at the way Cas’ eyes darkened further at the sight, his own tongue wetting his lips in sympathy.  When Dean popped the button on his jeans and started to ever-so-slowly lower the zipper with his teeth, a rumbling growl made its way out of Cas’ chest and Dean’s dick drooled into his lap at the sound.  He slipped his thumbs into the waist band of jeans and boxers, pulling the whole works down just as slowly as he’d done on the zipper, appreciating the sight of Cas’ purple dick appearing as if by magic.  He gazed up at Cas as he pushed the pants and shorts down enough that they’d slip off to the floor.

 

            Cas smiled down at him, his lips stretching wide in a wicked smirk of dominance as he pushed his dick down to paint Dean’s lips and chin with pre-ejaculate.  Dean moaned and chased the head around with his tongue, begging quietly for just a little taste.  Cas relented and let Dean suckle on the spongy tip, lapping the drops of pre-come as they ran out the slit and both groaned extravagantly.  Dean felt a shiver run through Cas’ thighs where he held on for balance as he worked his mouth a little further, flicking his tongue over the frenulum.  Cas pushed him off, chest heaving, “On your stomach,” he ordered gruffly.  Dean scrambled onto the middle of the bed, head resting on a pillow as he adjusted his dick, so it wasn’t lying at an odd angle.  He could hear Cas rustling around in their bags by the door but didn’t dare look.  He lay on his stomach, right leg bent at the knee and pulled up, arms bent at the elbow with his hands resting on either side of his head, just like he knew Cas liked to see him.  The catch of breath behind him told Dean his positioning was correct.  He allowed a small smile to creep across his face.  The bed dipped behind him as Cas joined him on the bed.

 

            “You said you wanted it hard tonight, did you not?”  Dean nodded into the pillow under his cheek.  “Tonight isn’t about what you want, though, is it?” Confusion brought Dean’s brows together as he risked a look over his shoulder at Cas.  He was holding what looked like a pink egg and a bottle of lube where he kneeled between Dean’s knees.  “Answer me.”

 

            Dean swallowed and laid his head back down, a rush of submission running through him, loosening a building tension in his muscles and clearing his mind of its constant internal chatter, “No, sir,” he replied simply.  He’d never be into the whole heavy dom/sub scene, but this little bit of give and take was perfect for when he was feeling like this.

 

            Cas bent over suddenly and ran a hand over Dean’s broad shoulders before leaning in to kiss the nape of his neck, licking his way over to Dean’s mouth for a soft kiss to his plump lips, “Just trust me,” he whispered into Dean’s ear, “It’s going to feel so good.” He nipped lightly at Dean’s neck and rubbed a dry thumb gently over Dean’s entrance.  Dean groaned quietly and nodded, his hips jerking involuntarily, pushing his cock into the soft quilt.  Cas sat up and Dean heard the distinct sound of the cap on the lube bottle popping open.  A moment later, Cas was spreading still-chilly lube in a circle around Dean’s pucker with his right hand, his left bracing on the small of Dean’s back, keeping his hips from bucking again. 

 

            Cas slipped his forefinger inside and Dean groaned lowly, sweat starting to bead on his temples, “You’re going to take everything I have to give you tonight, Dean,” he said as he crooked his finger and brushed against Dean’s prostate lightly, “And believe me, you _will_ be feeling it tomorrow,” Cas promised darkly.  He only worked up to two fingers scissoring Dean’s slick rim before he was pulling his hand away.  Dean struggled to catch his breath and tried not to whimper when Cas stopped so soon.  The cold touch of hard plastic confused him for a minute, before he remembered the pink egg-thing. Cas pushed firmly but slowly, until the egg popped past the first ring of muscle and Dean was panting from the stretch.  The widest part was only about as wide as three of Cas’ fingers, but he’d only stretched him up to two.  Cas kept on pushing, and suddenly the whole thing was inside, but still, he pushed.  When he finally pulled his fingers out, Cas pushed Dean’s legs together and straddled his upper thighs, his blood-thick cock lying along Dean’s crack.

 

            Just as Dean was about to ask what Cas was doing, an explosion of vibration erupted against his prostate.  Dean’s body stiffened like he’d been electrocuted, a guttural ‘ungh’ escaping his lips.  The vibration eased up almost instantly, but Cas leaned down, settling his hips against Dean’s ass, sliding his dick up and down his crack and pushing Dean’s dick into the bed with every downward thrust. Cas laid his head on top of Dean’s, his right hand sliding under Dean’s shoulder to grip from underneath, his left holding Dean’s hip to the rhythm he set.  Dean was trapped between the not-quite-enough vibrations in his ass and the not-nearly-enough friction on his dick.  Dean grunted in frustration when his attempts to hump into the bed were thwarted by Cas’ grip on his hip and his ability to wiggle against Cas’ cock hindered by the hold on his shoulder.

 

            “That’s it…Dean…mmm…love…take it…feels so good…your ass is perfection…ah…” Cas purred in between slow, even thrusts of his hips and licking kisses to Dean’s exposed ear, “Could do this…for hours…” Dean whined and Cas chuckled, “Maybe not hours…but this is…love you so much…Dean…so beautiful…so smart…love your big-“ a harder thrust, “…heart…ah…”  Dean’s balls throbbed with the need to come, the quilt under his dick soaked through, the cotton material squeaking along his length every time Cas pressed inexorably down.  His orgasm burned brightly just beyond his grasp for so long it was banked into a languid glow slowly consuming his every thought, his entire being boiled down to the feeling of Cas surrounding him with heat and pleasure and loving words.

 

            “Love you,” Dean choked out, unsurprised to feel tears slipping over the bridge of his nose to join their fellows on his pillow.  Cas turned the vibrator back up, all the way.  Dean clenched down in reaction, his toes curling and his finger nails digging into the quilt as his orgasm started its attack run.

 

            “And I you, my Righteous Man,” Cas rumbled into his ear before turning off the vibe entirely and slowly pulling it out by the attached tether.  Dean gasped when its weight was tugged gently out of his body, leaving him feeling empty and backing him off from his climax.  When he whimpered in need, Cas shushed him and turned his pliant body over onto his back.  Cas lubed up his throbbing length and pushed his knees up, slinging both Dean’s bowed legs over his shoulders before lining up with Dean’s sensitive rim.  He bent down, face a hair’s breadth away from Dean’s, and stared into his eyes as he breached his fluttering hole, slowly sheathing himself. 

 

            Bright spots exploded behind Dean’s eyes as his inner muscles rippled around the much larger intrusion and he gasped at the immediate return to the edge of orgasm, his eyes caught on Cas’ and overrun with the intensity of it all.  Cas’s shoulders bunched as he rolled his hips, pulling his dick out in an easy, slick slide, before plunging back in.  The skin around his mouth was tight with the effort not to just fill Dean up right away and he concentrated on his breathing as he built up a punishing pace, ramming into the gorgeous man below him.  By pretending to simply take what he wanted, Cas was finally able to give Dean everything he needed.  Cas rutted into Dean’s ass, grinding the head of his cock against that firm bundle of nerves deep inside the man, drawing moans and breathy pleas from both of them.  Once Dean started pushing back against Cas’ thrusts, his nails scrabbling at Cas’ sweaty shoulders, he redoubled his efforts, almost daring his body to come before Dean.  Dean instantly stiffened under him, giving one last guttural groan as his ass clamped down on Cas’ dick almost painfully.  His cock trembled against Cas’ stomach and the warmth of Dean’s hot spend spread between them as Cas fucked him through his aftershocks.

 

            Cas kept working his hips against Dean’s firm ass, his own end held off perhaps too long and now shy to make an appearance.  Dean’s hand cradled his face, fingers gripping his ear gently as the man pulled him in for a kiss.  Dean muttering ‘Come for me, Cas’ into his open mouth opened the flood gates and Cas came in hard waves of white-hot bliss, grunting and thrusting hard one-two-three times, burying his seed as deep inside Dean as he could.  Dean kissed him through the aftershocks, his hands running up and down Cas’ back, nails scratching lightly and making Cas shiver in pleasure.

 

            Rolling them over to their sides pulled Cas out of him, but that was okay.  Holding Cas and watching his face relaxed and sated in between lazy kisses was good, too.  Cas mumbled something about cleaning up, but Dean shushed him and finagled them both under the quilt, pulling Cas’ head to rest under his chin, their arms wrapped around each other tightly as they drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 

            Sam was woken from a dream of soft, honey-gold hair and laughing amber eyes by a loud knocking on his door.  Struggling up out of his warm bed, Sam plodded to his door, growling about how this better be a real emergency this time.  He opened the door to see Edgar and Arthur Ketch, the former looking like a ranch hand, as usual, and the letter like an MI5 agent, also as usual.

 

            “Get dressed. Roman wants to see us in twenty,” Edgar said gruffly, pushing past Sam.

 

            “Come on in, Edgar,” Sam muttered darkly.  Ketch waited for Sam to throw his arm out, indicating he could enter, as well.  Sam rolled his eyes above Ketch’s head as he walked in to the apartment.

 

            Edgar stood by the coffee table, watching Sam coolly as Ketch inspected the contents of Sam’s bookcases.  “We’ll wait here,” Edgar said when Sam looked at him for further explanation.

 

            “Fine,” Sam sighed and tromped off to his bedroom to change.  He slipped on a pair of jeans and laced up his boots.  His heavy canvas jacket went over a t shirt/flannel combo.  A quick glance in the mirror over his dresser made him do a double take.  In this moment, he looked like Dean was still picking out his clothes and the memory of his brother was like a punch in the gut.  He hadn’t mentioned Dean to anyone here and not being able to talk about his big brother had made it harder for Sam to keep up the faith that the man was still alive.  Every day that passed without seeing him show up in San Francisco was another nail in his coffin.  Sam fervently hoped that Dean would be proud of him, even if this went sideways and Sam was killed.  He knew he’d see Jess and Dean in Heaven.  He didn’t have a lot to lose, at this point.  That thought brought up a memory of Gabriel, skin glowing in the light of a single lamp, smiling down at him from his perch on Sam’s hips.  Sam swallowed hard.  Gabriel was better off away from all this.  Charlie and Zeke would take care of the second love of Sam’s life.

 

            Sam settled the blade Ruby had given him during their brief fling.  It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and fit perfectly in the quick-release slide fitted into the sleeve of his jacket.  The knife was the second most valuable thing Ruby had given him.  The first had been all the intel she had unwittingly blabbed to him on the structure and day-to-day operations of Collections, enabling him to slip easily into the role left vacant by the late Aza Zell.  Roman had him ‘disappeared’ after Sam had produced evidence of Aza’s role in a conspiracy to supplant Dick with Zell himself.  There had been no such conspiracy, but Roman’s ego latched onto the idea and he rewarded Sam handsomely for the information, handing him the entire Collections division on a silver platter and effectively ending his relationship with Ruby when she was passed over for the position.

 

            “Let’s go,” Sam said as he walked back out into his living room, just barely catching Ketch whispering something to Edgar.  Sam stopped short. 

 

            “That’s what you’re wearing?” Ketch asked, running his hand down the lapel of his own tailored suit coat.

 

            “Edgar’s wearing a jean jacket,” Sam pointed out, “And you woke me up in the middle of the night, that doesn’t scream formal meeting to me.”

 

            Ketch inclined his head in acquiescence, but his face told Sam he knew something critical that Sam didn’t.  Sam indicated the front door and Ketch scurried out.  Sam grabbed his keys and wallet from the hall table.  Edgar refused to precede him out the door and locked it behind them without giving Sam the chance to do it first.  Sam narrowed his eyes in thought as they proceeded to the elevator like that: Ketch in the lead, followed by Sam with Edgar close on his heels.  Neither man walked beside him in the wide hallway and kept their positions in a line in the elevator.  They were surrounding him.  Suddenly, Sam had a sinking feeling he knew what had Roman calling a meeting in the middle of the night.

 

            They passed through the reception area unchallenged no one was at the desk and Ketch knocked quietly on Roman’s office door, then held it open for Sam.  Roman stood at one of the big windows that covered two whole walls of his office.   Brady stood beside Roman’s desk.  Naomi sat in Roman’s Desk chair like a queen.  Two guys about Sam’s size stood on either side of the door that Edgar closed behind him as he entered.  Ruby lounged in a barrel chair to the right of the desk.

 

            Brady pointed at one of the chairs across from the desk, but Sam shook his head and clasped his hands behind him, chest out and chin held high, just as their dad had taught them.  Show no weakness, even if you know the fight is lost.  Roman turned slightly to look at him, a greasy smile slithering across his face.

 

            “Sam Winchester,” he crooned, “you’ve been a _naughty_ boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be almost entirely Sam's POV, with a smattering of Dean's.  
> Sabriel with a smattering of Destiel.  
> I've always really thought Sam was a deeper character, emotionally speaking, than Dean so, I'm really excited to write him some more.   
> Probably just one more chapter after that, but you never know ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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